


the bell can't be unrung

by ArrowsandGuns (orphan_account)



Category: Now You See Me (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Reader is not a morning person, Reader likes her french toast without syrup sorry not sorry, this is a collection of prompts so i'll update tags as i go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 07:40:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7499763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ArrowsandGuns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of NYSM-related prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Breaking and Entering, pt 1

**Author's Note:**

> You're a native New Yorker who has questionable luck. One night, you come home to find out someone has broken in. Oh, and they're sleeping on your couch.

You take off your shoes with a heavy sigh of relief. Today has been a long day of walking. It adds up to a long week since the temp agency has set you up as a New York tour guide. You were born here, you live and _breathe_ this city, but that doesn't make touring any better of a job. You get asked stupid questions but oblivious people. At first, you even tried to protect them from thieves and other pick pockets. That only lasted an hour. You felt guilty about it for a while but you were being forced to stop your tour at every block to protect a tourist and, honestly, you weren't getting paid well enough for it.

Your antique clock begins to chime for midnight and you sigh again, slipping off your heavy jacket and resting it on the coat rack. You kick your shoes away a bit farther as you turn on the light to your apartment. You give it a good once over before starting to walk to the bathroom.

There's a lump on your couch.

It's moving.

You may or may not have screamed, reaching into your jean pocket for a pocket knife. The lump moves at your voice and raises it's head - oh, thank god: it's human - and looks at you with an expression you can only equate to a puppy. 

A very bad puppy.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" Your voice is elevated though you wouldn't consider it yelling. 

His hair is a mess and his eyes are still pretty unfocused. "You're in _my_ apartment," he counters.

You don't have time for this; your feet ache and you still have to wipe off you eye makeup before bed and you can't possible sleep in the uncomfortable uniform that identifies you as a tour guide. "You live in 13B?" You cock your hips at him and raise an eyebrow.

He hums, considering this. "Guess not?"

You scoff. "Guess not," you repeat in monotone.

He snuggles the dark blanket anyways, having found a resting place on your couch. "What time is it?"

For some reason, you don't scream and kick him out immediately. Maybe the tourists have been sapping your energy like the bloodsuckers they are. "Midnight."

He nods and closes his eyes. "Can I sleep over for tonight?"

You try to weigh the pros and cons but all you can come up with is **pro** : not dealing with this right now and **con** : losing sleep every second you continue to stand there.

"Sure, why not?" Your shoulders shrug and drop and you realize just how close to empty you've been running on. You're too tired to even justify leaving your makeup on as you leave the room, turning the light off as you walk into your own bedroom. 

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Sunlight warms your face. Your eyes flutter open and immediately look at the alarm beside you, which reads 7:14am. You don't have work today so you can't figure out what ungodly reason woke you up so early. Then it hits you.

There's commotion in the kitchen and the smell of french toast fills the air. New York has taught you to be suspicious and alert, first and foremost, so you slip out of bed and grab your cellphone. You ease out of your room and into the living room. Nothing looks out of place. Well, except for your couch, which holds a perfectly folded blanket. You at least have one wrinkle or fold out of place when you do it yourself.

Memories of last night flood you as you walk closer to the kitchen.

You're thankful that your kitchen door doesn't creak as you peak inside. You see the man from last night bent over your stove, cooking up a rather pretty bicep- er, _breakfast_. You rub the back of your head as step inside; he doesn't seem to notice you. He's humming some familiar song... from Spanish class? Was he humming  _la cucaracha_? You groan. "Dude," you say with the kind of exasperation that comes from second-hand embarrassment. "Please hum something better."

He turns to you with a heart-skipping smile and, _damn he doesn't even look surprised that you're there_. Inwardly, you curse yourself for being too loud. If he was a dangerous intruder you could be dead by now. 

"Any requests?" He asks, and not dishonestly.

You purse your lips as you think of what he could hum, though you're more interested in the generous pile of french toast. He laughs as he follows your gaze. "Go for it," he invites.

"Don't mind if I do," you say as you grab the piece from the top and take a bite out of it.

His eyes widen at that you smugly think praises to yourself. Mister B&E _could_ be surprised, it seemed. "You're not going to put any syrup on those?"

"I like 'em dry," you admit with your mouth full. "Love the egg taste."

His face scrunches up and you slap his back lightly. You're in the middle of taking another bite but your expression clearly says, _don't judge me in my own home_.

He shrugs it off and flips the last piece onto the pile. "So... uh, I'm sorry for sneaking in last night." He looked at you sheepishly, unsure how you'd take his apology.

Honestly, you're more preoccupied with the delicious breakfast. "Yeah, yeah, no big deal. Break in again if you know how to make enchiladas." 

"Red sauce or green sauce?"

Your eyebrows lift as he piques your interest. "Both, either, I don't care." 

He laughs at that, and eventually you join in too. He carries the plates of french toast to the living room so you can both sit on the couch and relax.

You study his face as you eat. "You look familiar," you accuse.

He nods and pulls a deck of cards from his pocket. "I'm a-"

You cut him off as you realize he's one of the Four Horsemen. "Yer a wizard, Harry!" You say with a mouthful of french toast.

He pauses for a second. "Huh?"

You swallow and point at him with a manicured nail. "You, mister, are going to break in again in the future and while you make me probably the most delicious dinner I'll ever have, we are going to watch the Harry Potter movies."

He laughs around his bite of french toast and eventually nods, giving in. "Okay, I guess it's a _date_ then."

You know he's joking but... well, he's cute. And a pretty damn good magician. And chef. "Don't be late," you tease, even though you two won't set a date.

Your antique clock chimes nine times and he shoots out of his seat. "Shit- late." He doesn't offer further explanation as he puts his half-eaten breakfast down on the coffee table and runs past you, grabbing his leather jacket on the coat rack. "Thanks for not calling the cops last night!"

You don't get to respond with a thank you before he's gone, but you're not worried.

You two will meet again, next to enchiladas and a lovely movie series and, hey, maybe the date will be magical.


	2. Breaking and Entering, pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack breaks in again.

You were fired from your new temporary position as a ticket taker at the theater on 4th street. You'd seen a father yank his kid a little too hard to drag him out of the arcade area and... well, you had to say something. When the man came up to you to hand you two tickets for Finding Dory, you made a comment. You told him to ease up on the kid; maybe a little more passive aggressively, maybe a little too sharply. He told you to back to the fuck off, that he knew what he was doing. Maybe you said something along the lines of _obviously not, sir, if you're swearing like that in front of a kids' movie_. Maybe he yanked his kid past you. Maybe you grabbed him before he could enter the movie room. If things escalated from there and a manager got involved, well, no one would be the wiser. 

But you knew, and you knew it'd been wrong of the man to do what he'd done. 

In all, it was a bad day. You were sure the manager would call the temp agency. Maybe they'd stop helping you.

Lots of maybe's in the world.

You close the door behind you a little too hard. It echoes across the apartment. You toe your shoes off and kick them across the room. It's hardly evening but you go to turn the living room light... oh, it's already on. You place your coat on the rack as the smell of spices and cheese fill the air. You piece together the scene.

"At least he keeps his word," you murmur as you walk into the kitchen. Jack Wilder, world-renowned magician and famous Horseman, is up to his elbows in food around your kitchen. You can't help but raise a brow as you notice his apron. KISS THE COOK it requests. 

He turns and smiles at you. "You're back a little early," he observes. He gestures to the oven, which is still heating up the enchiladas.

"How'd you know my schedule?"

You realize what he's going to say a second too late to stop him- "Magic." He does some jazz hands to emphasize his answer and you just have to roll your eyes.

"Nicely done," you reply sarcastically. He grins at that and continues preparing some Spanish rice. "How do you know how to make all of this stuff? Big family?"

"No family," he answers a little too quickly. You both pause for a second; you realizing he's not joking and him realizing that he had been honest instead of giving a snazzy response like he'd intended.

You shrug to prevent the mood from getting too serious. "Well, they'd have been lucky to have a chef like you..." Your gaze purposefully drops to his apron.

"Don't make fun of this baby," he warns. "It's served me well."

At first you think he's referencing the faded stains around the cloth. "Really?" Your raised brow screams disbelief more than your tone.

He goes on about a story about how he got a fellow horseman - he wouldn't say which - smooched him while he made lunch one time because of it. You can tell it's going to be a long story and eventually go over to him and kiss his cheek so he'll stop.

It works like a charm.

It also makes him blush like a tomato. "You weren't expecting it to work this time?" You tease.

He makes a 'pfft' sound and continues stirring the rice. "Do you have those wizard movies?" 

You notice him change the subject but let him off the hook. "Of course; I have DVD _and_ blu-ray."

He laughs at the attempt to brag and turns off the stove. The oven beeps and he grabs oven mitts with a cat paw design. 

"Seriously?"

He smiles at you again but doesn't answer, flexing his hands in the mitts to look like a cat pawing at you. He bends to retrieve dinner, "Care to set the table?"

"The coffee table?"

"Do you have another?"

You mutter under your breath, "not with _my_ paycheck."

He laughs with you as you go do what he asked. "Speaking of," you call from the living room, "I'm sure a world-class magician's paycheck calls for a nicer apartment." You remember him insinuating he had a room in this building, but you know none of the apartments here are nice enough for a five star entertainer.

"We give more than we take," he answers simply. You raise a brow as he enters with the food, setting it down and finally taking off those oven mitts. He notices you watching him and gives you another shake of the mitts. "I know you're thinking of borrowing these," he accuses.

"I have way better taste," you counter.

He scoffs, as if the mitts are top fashion. "I hope these movies are good." 

You put in the first one and smile. "If they aren't, I'll make sure you don't think your time was wasted."

He smirks at your attempt at flirting but doesn't say a word. You both settle in soon enough and you praise his cooking until the movie actually starts. He's so into the film in just a few minutes that you take his plate from him and put it on the table before he spills it on himself. You grab the couch blanket and cover yourself, though he eventually steals some from you as the sun sets. He doesn't take his eyes off the screen the whole movie, and he fidgets while you replace it with the second. "You like?"

He nods enthusiastically. "How many did you say there were?"

  
"Seven."

He hisses out a yes and steals more blanket before you sit down.

"You're sharing that, mister B&E."

He groans. "I hate that nickname," he complains.

"And sharing, apparently."

He waits for you to sit down before pulling you down so your head lays on his chest. He wraps his arms around you after you pull the blanket up again. "Shared enough for ya?"

You nod against his chest. He plays with your hair as the movie plays. When it ends, you regretfully get up to put in the next film. "Should I call you mister horsemen?" 

"You can call me Jack."

You return to the couch as the movie loads and he brings you close all over again. "Alright, Jack... You can call me (y/n)."

He rubs your shoulders. "I already knew your name, (y/n)."

You don't take the bait.

"You know how?" He asks.

"Stop right there," you warn. If he says it again you're gonna fight him.

"It's called ma-"

You lift yourself up and run a hand through his hair as you capture his lips. He's stunned for only a moment before reciprocating. The two of you stay like that, kissing and running your hands against each other the whole movie. You don't pull away until the credits play, and you frown at the idea of getting up to put the next one in. 

He pulls you closer and smiles against your cheek. In between the kisses he places along your jaw and ear he explains, "Don't bother. We're fine like this."

You laugh a bit, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Yeah... it's like magic."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the last installment for this idea. Next chapter will probably be Merritt-y, and then a Lula/Jack scene. 
> 
> This was almost an angsty fic but I decided to spare y'all. BTW if/when you comment a request, I'd like it if you gave me a direction for it like angst or fluff or fix-it or something. Otherwise, your prompt is at my mercy lol.


End file.
